


Memento Mori

by SilvCyanide



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilvCyanide/pseuds/SilvCyanide
Summary: Countless times I've blacked out to their laughing faces.How many times, how many times have I repeated this unending scenario?I'm sure you must have noticed this by now, haven't you?This sort of cliched story only has one true ending.It surely exists beyond these endlessly repeating paintings, so-





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song, [[Ib] Heat Haze](https://youtube.com/watch?v=Ao5e2ZI2b4Y)

A tinny voice screeches a death knell and the sound of your body hitting the floor to the ear-piercing sound of gnashing teeth punctuates the cacophony of noise.

"well, it's chow time!"

The scent of the rose and the blood spilling from your motionless body mixing together is overwhelming.

(It's choking me.)

The lying canvas grins at me with glee in its eyes. I don't notice it.

Instead, I reach out my shaking hand in your direction but-

**Game Over**

[New game]  
> **[Continue]** <  
[Exit]

* * *

 

The pain fades, the wounds seal, and my mind clears up. Your eyes stare at me as I push myself to my feet, and for a moment you looked so much like one of those Painted Ladies, that I let out an involuntary scream and stumble back. You giggle but stick out an arm, a blue rose clutched in your fist. Embarrassed, I take it from you, thanking you for taking it back.

But our meeting has a sense of deja vu, even if I've never seen you before, and the scene in my nightmares leaves me horrified. I want to protect you, to keep you safe from harm, but I don't know why the feeling's so intense. You walk with a blank face, smiling occasionally, and they seem like the only expressions you own.

So why do I remember, through veils of shadows and the haziness of events halfway forgotten, your face twisted in pain. Why do I remember the once-pristine rose being mauled as I stood there unable to do a thing, blood-red petals scattering across the grey carpet. Why do I remember a grinning face coloured in blue as it drained your life away, and your body collapsing woodenly to the floor, blood staining the monochromatic surroundings to a piercing and painful red.

Why do I remember that face unrepentantly saying, "ah that was good. thank you for the meal."

But it's just a nightmare, that's all.

I smile down at you and introduce myself.

"I'm terribly sorry for not asking you your name, my name is Garry."

Your eyes look so very different from the Painted Ladies in this moment that I don't know how I could have mistaken you as them, as you respond with your own name. What a unique name it is, Ib.

(Why do I remember a Game Over.)

"You know, it is a little bit strange. This painted face in front of me, haven't I seen it in a dream before?"

* * *

 

We made it to the end, this haunted gallery of nightmares.

The Fabricated World hangs silent, ominous, hopeful, foreboding, optimistic. The frame flickers, once, twice, and I have to look away from the white. But I know that this is the exit.

I hop in and my figure grows transparent. I can see you watching me with fear in your eyes. Are you scared? There's no need to be scared, I promise. The hand I reach out this time isn't trembling, and I call your name, but you turn away.

(What are you doing, why are you walking away.)

"Ib, grab my hand!"

I hear the worry scratching my voice, but you do not appear to hear anything at all. You continue walking, and I want to leap out to pull you back, but something blocks my way.

(Come back...)

My vision fades and I see your small figure disappear around the corner, back into the murderous grasp of the gallery. Then, I don't see anything anymore.

I escaped but you're still trapped in there. The space beside me is devastatingly empty, is this really the end?

_You can't remember what you were doing._

(Restart!)

[New game]  
> **[Continue]** <  
[Exit]

* * *

 

Countless times I've blacked out to their laughing faces.

How many times, how many times have I repeated this unending scenario?

I'm sure you must have noticed this by now, haven't you?

This sort of cliched story only has one true ending.

It surely exists beyond these endlessly repeating paintings, so-

 

I pushed you aside, ignoring your protests, and my blue rose was given in exchange for yours.

As she ran off with my life in her hand, the colour of the petals and my falling body were reflected in your eyes. This sort of story only has one ending, so I say to you with a smile on my face,

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up. If you need help, I'll come running."

You ran with tears in your eyes and my vision darkens until I cannot see anything anymore.

I'm sorry, Ib, looks like I lied to you after all.

It's another cycle in the endless repeats but today, something has changed.

* * *

 

I hold your candy in my hand as I jump out, not noticing the shadow following behind.

( _You can't remember what you were doing._ )

The candy from you is taken away and eaten, and my mind floods with memories even as she stands laughing cheerfully in front of me.

Your portrait looks very peaceful, Garry, but you're not sleeping are you?

(Dear 'sister', why have you eaten that candy, that last memory of him.)

It seems I have failed this time too.

(Never forgive.)

> **[New game]** <  
[Continue]  
[Exit]

* * *

 

I awaken with your coat over me in a small room, to the sound of the pages turning as you read.

Ah, I had a nightmare.

You crouch down beside me and I remember your kindness and reassuring words. That blue rose in your pocket, didn't I see it torn apart by her hands?

This scene is familiar, but there's no need for an exchange, because my rose is in my hand this time.

My footsteps echo yours as we run up the crayon stairs, to the lone painting on the wall, followed by her with a palette knife in her grasp.

The fire flickers in your hands and her painting crumbles into ashes, to sorrowful screams. Your hand is bleeding, cut by the glass, are you really okay?

"Would you like my handkerchief?"

I tie it around your hand and the white is overtaken by red.

* * *

 

We made it to the end, this haunted gallery of nightmares.

The Fabricated World is ominous as ever, but you leap through with no fear, as you hold your hand out for mine.

"Ib, grab my hand. I'll pull you in!"

"Ib, follow your mother."

The fake has come as she wears my mother's face, enticing me to return into the cold embrace of the darkness.

This time there's no hesitation as I hold onto you and we fall in. Your embrace feels much warmer.

* * *

 

I call to you as you stand in front of the sculpture, but why is it that you don't seem to know me?

"I'm sorry."

You say, even as you walk away, but why does your face seem to be filled with sorrow. I stand alone by the Embodiment Of Spirit, even as your back retreats further.

Have I failed yet again?

* * *

 

Countless times I've blacked out to their laughing faces.

How many times, how many times have I repeated this unending scenario?

I'm sure you must have noticed this by now, haven't you?

This sort of cliched story only has one true ending.

It surely exists beyond these endlessly repeating paintings, so-

 

Suddenly you stop, and you hold a handkerchief in your hand. It is stained with blood and the colour of roses that seem to reflect the twisted memories from the other side. You turn to me, puzzled but expectant, even as I hold the candy out to you on my palm and laugh.

"I remember."

It's another cycle in the endless repeats but today, something has ended.

(Something has started this time.)

[New game]  
[Continue]  
> **[Exit]** <

* * *

 

A girl awakens in front of a painting alone, a yellow rose on her lap, and she says,

"Won't somebody come soon. Won't somebody come soon."

( _She's here._ )

 


End file.
